


Unofficial Reprimand

by sasha1600



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Gen, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-07 02:25:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha1600/pseuds/sasha1600
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>‘Or I can punish you myself.  Off the record.  Without destroying your career.’</em>  </p><p>Set after Life Born of Fire, so spoilers for that episode, and the story makes more sense if you’ve seen it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unofficial Reprimand

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning: This story describes the corporal punishment of an adult. James knows what he’s agreeing to, and it’s no worse than what used to be commonplace in schools, but it’s certainly painful. Spankyfic isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, so please exercise discretion in choosing to read this story.**
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> I’d like to thank Lindenharp for beta reading and Xanthe (who kindly stepped outside her usual fandoms for the sake of spankyfic!) for Brit-picking. Thanks also to Wendymr for graciously answering questions about police procedures despite not being comfortable with where I was going with this story.

James stares out the window, the silence heavy in the car. After Lewis asked how he’s feeling, and he insisted, as one does, that he’s fine, they’ve driven wordlessly through the rain-lashed streets of Oxford. Words, usually so easy for him, are impossible. 

He can’t even look at his governor right now. 

He’d expected to take a taxi home. Or, perhaps, if Lewis was feeling kind, maybe he’d send a uniform to drive him. 

This unexpected generosity isn’t really a kindness, because it forces James to think about what he’s done. And what the consequences will be. Is this the last time, he wonders, that he’ll ride in this car? Has Lewis already demanded a new bagman, one he can trust not to lie to him? He’d tell him in person, wouldn’t he? Is that why he’s come for him himself?

A few more streets pass before the silence becomes too much to bear. 

‘I owe you an apology, sir. I know I’ll be suspended, of course, but I want to...’

‘Who said anything about suspension, Sergeant?’

‘Errmm. Yes. I know I could be dismissed outright, sir, but I’d hoped...’

‘That’s not what I mean, man! Innocent can’t suspend you for something she doesn’t know about.’

James gapes at him in astonishment. Lewis has covered up for him before. Even when he’d barely known him, he’d deflected Innocent’s wrath, taking the blame himself for James’s oversight. But this was a much more serious offence, and he’d assumed that the man who had ordered him from his sight would demand that justice be done.

‘But.... Sir! You...’

Stopped at a traffic light, Lewis takes a second to glare a reprimand at him for the interruption.

‘You have a decision to make.’

‘Sir?’

‘You can tell Innocent what you did, and face whatever consequences she decides are appropriate...’

That’s more or less what he expected. He didn’t think he’d have to go to the Chief Super himself and confess, and that’s not something he wants to do. But he’d assumed that he’d be facing disciplinary action of her choosing.

‘Or?’ he asks, since Lewis’s mention of a decision had implied there was at least one other option. 

In that context, he half expects to hear his boss offer to pretend the whole thing had never happened, to suggest that they can continue working as usual, as long as he promises not to do it again. He’s grateful for any prospect of forgiveness, for an undeserved second chance. The problem is that he knows he won’t be able to just move on so easily. He’s been miserable since well before Lewis found out about his less-than-truthful statements, the guilt eating at him like acid. As much as he dreads the conversation he’ll have with Innocent, he needs to know he’s been punished for his actions, to be able to live with himself. 

‘Or I can punish you myself. Off the record. Without destroying your career.’

James looks over in shock. Does Lewis understand what he’s offering, he wonders? Not just protection from Innocent’s official sanction, but a genuine opportunity to salvage their working relationship, and his life?

‘Thank you, sir,’ he tells him sincerely. Lewis doesn’t prod him for a more explicit answer, and he lapses into silence, deep in thought. 

Would Lewis punish him severely enough to matter? Yes, of course he will. He’s not the sort of man to impose some token sanction for the sake of appearances, so he could tell Innocent he’s dealt with it, if she ever found out. No, he’d tell her directly that he’d decided against disciplinary action, if that were the case. He wouldn’t punish him at all, if he didn’t intend it to mean something. 

And, knowing that, it’s not hard to figure out _how_ he’s likely to be punished. Lewis can’t suspend him, after all, or restrict him to desk duty, or use any of the other usual ways that inspectors discipline disobedient sergeants. Not if he intends to keep it from official notice. And he isn’t likely to think that confining him to his flat when he’s not at work, or forbidding telly-watching, is a sufficient response. Something suitably severe, that can be kept completely private? 

‘I’m not going to want to sit down after you punish me, am I, sir?’ he asks, even though he’s already fairly certain of the answer. He needs to hear the confirmation. And he needs for Lewis to know that he understands.

‘Not for a while, no.’

Hearing it is still a shock. There’s another moment of silence before Lewis continues.

‘I won’t force ye, lad. If you’d prefer the formal reprimand from Innocent...’

‘No. Sir. I... will accept your discipline.’

He knows even before he says it that it sounds terribly formal, but it’s exactly what he means. He knows full well this is his choice to make, and he’s making it freely. And he knows, too, that it will be discipline – measured, controlled, and deserved – and not arbitrary abuse. And, most importantly, it’s _Lewis_. It wouldn’t feel right, being punished by the Chief Super for what was fundamentally a sin against his DI. And it’s his knowledge of the man that lets him agree to disregard every protection the official regs give him, and submit so absolutely to his authority.

Lewis nods his understanding, then focuses on the road. It’s only a few minutes later that the car pulls up outside James’s flat. Lewis looks at him quizzically, then, when James nods his confirmation, switches off the engine. 

There’s some fumbling with keys – he’s glad he still _has_ keys, and his wallet, since he’d been too disoriented to think to take his jacket off when Zoe led him to her bedroom – but at last he’s letting them in to the flat.

‘Should I... errrr...’ he mumbles, too self-conscious to manage an articulate question.

‘James... you’re just out of hospital, lad. We can do this later...’

The expression on the inspector’s face is unexpectedly kind, not at all the righteous indignation he deserves to see.

‘No. Sir. I... I don’t want to have to wait...’

The thought of spending the next few days knowing that Lewis is going to punish him is... unpleasant.

‘All right. If you’re sure.’

James gives him a small nod, his lips pressed into a thin line.

‘Then this is your last chance to change your mind. I won’t stop...’

He doesn’t have to finish the sentence. James knows he means he’ll _want_ it to stop long before it does, and that pleading isn’t going to work. He nods again.

‘Understood.’

‘And, James...’

The silence hangs between them for a moment before James forces himself to meet Lewis’s eyes.

‘This will hurt.’

James’s stomach clenches at the unexpectedly blunt words. He knows it will hurt. Of course he does. But it’s very like Lewis to make sure there’s no possible misunderstanding about what he’s agreeing to. This isn’t the time for one of his usual smartarse comments. He forces himself to hold his boss’s gaze.

‘I deserve it. And I trust you, sir.’

And he does. Trusts him enough to let him hurt him, knowing he would never actually harm him. And trusts him enough to let him see him vulnerable and in pain, exposed – emotionally as well as physically – and penitent, without the deliberate air of confidence he normally projects.

Lewis nods slightly and reaches for his belt buckle. 

James turns away, not wanting to watch Lewis preparing to whip him. Squaring his shoulders, he crosses the room and efficiently moves a few things on the top of his desk, clearing a space. Taking a deep breath to steel himself, he leans over, grasping the edges of the desk with a white-knuckled grip.

It’s only once he’s in position that he feels a real shiver of fear. Until now, he’s been focusing on his relief that Lewis is willing to keep him as his bagman, and on his need to atone in some way for his actions. He’s suddenly very aware that this isn’t anything like waiting for a priest to assign him a few decades of the rosary. And it isn’t going to be anything like a few mild swats with his mother’s hand. As much as he trusts Lewis, he can’t help feeling decidedly frightened as he wonders just how badly a belt will hurt.

All too soon, speculation is replaced with painful knowledge. He feels Lewis’s hand on his back, then hears the loud crack of leather against his arse, a second before his brain registers a streak of fire. James gasps, clenching his teeth and clutching tighter at the desk. But each stroke is agony, and he finds it more and more difficult to keep still and continue to accept this punishment. By the time it finally stops, his eyes are leaking tears and his jaw is aching from his determined efforts to take it quietly. His relief that it’s over is tempered by the lasting pain that seems not to diminish at all, though the lashes have ended.

The hand is removed from his back but he stays where he is, gasping for breath and struggling to get himself under control. A moment later, he hears the tap running in the kitchen. He pushes himself slowly upright, then turns to face the man handing him a glass, his eyes soft with compassion.

‘Thank you, sir,’ he murmurs. It’s unclear, even to himself, if he means for the water or for the punishment. 

Lewis rests a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. 

‘Ye took that well, lad.’

James nods, acknowledging the unexpected praise. He hesitates before he speaks. 

‘I _am_ sorry, sir...’ he begins, but Lewis interrupts him.

‘I know you are. And you’ve paid for it. As far as I’m concerned, the matter is closed.’

‘Sir...’

‘Isn’t that how it works? Penance. Absolution. You get on with yer life, instead of dwelling on things that are done?’

James is momentarily speechless. The blunt statement of theology-according-to-Robert-Lewis shows that, once again, he’s grossly underestimated his governor. 

‘But, James...’

For the second time this evening, Lewis pauses until James, reluctantly, makes eye contact.

‘Lie to me again, and I’ll take a cane to ye.’

James feels the blood draining from his face, the thought of betraying Lewis’s trust again and the prospect of being caned equally horrifying. His school had been one of the last hold-outs, not abandoning the cane entirely until forced to do so by Parliament, but it had rarely been used, and James had never committed sufficient mischief to experience it himself. But he’d seen its effects, on occasion, in the communal showers, the stripes displayed with a kind of pride by some of the boys. He’s scared witless by the idea of Lewis marking him that way, but he knows he won’t refuse.

He twists his lips into a wry grin.

‘I will endeavour to make that unnecessary, sir.’

Lewis, clearly accustomed to his bagman, does not comment on the facetiousness most people would hear behind the formal phrasing.

‘Good. It’s not something I want to do. But I won’t stand for you lying to me, James.’

‘If I were ungrateful enough to lie to you again, sir, I'd deserve it.’

It’s hard to say. Not because he’s essentially giving his governor permission to punish him again – well, not _only_ that – but because, even now, forgiveness assured, it’s hard to admit that he did lie. To Lewis. 

Lewis nods, silently acknowledging his words and, James thinks, everything he hasn’t said as well. 

‘Right, then. Ye’d best take those tablets they gave you, and try to get some sleep. I’ll ring you tomorrow, make sure yer all right.’

‘I’ll be fine...’ he begins.

‘You’ll be bloody sore!’ Lewis interrupts, smiling knowingly. James is reminded that the older man knows, from personal experience, exactly how he feels. ‘But that’s not what I mean. You just got out of hospital, and I’m going to check on you. All right?’

James nods, knowing that any further protest will be futile. He’d been annoyed when the doctors insisted that he not return to work for a few more days, to give his lungs time to recover from the smoke to which they’d been exposed. Now, dismayed by the mere thought of sitting down, he’s grateful that he won’t have to spend tomorrow at his desk. 

He sees Lewis to the door, then begins to get ready for bed. His arse is still radiating pain, although the damage is less dramatic than he expects when he checks in the mirror. And, for the first time since the shouting-match in the street, he doesn’t feel the cold hand of guilt clenched around his heart. He’s ‘bloody sore’, as Lewis had said, but he also feels better than when he’d left hospital, convinced that his world was crumbling around him. Maybe, he tells his reflection while he cleans his teeth, it will be okay.


End file.
